


And lost again

by Paralelsky



Series: The lost wizard [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paralelsky/pseuds/Paralelsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prison was their refuge. Easily defendable. A well known dot on the map. It was only a matter of time before others started to show an interest, no matter of the opinion of the group that called it home. Even if said group included a former cop who may or may not be crazy, a skilled hunter and a secret wizard who was just trying to survive without getting too attached to his companions. Yeah, good luck with that!</p>
            </blockquote>





	And lost again

Beginning

Cold. That was how the world seemed after the apocalypse. No matter how many fires he started, Daryl could never get warm enough. Even the cigarette smoke was nothing but a brief reminder, as it curled in his throat and burned down the path to his lungs. He'd soon have to go without, unless he wanted to do it the old way, with a pipe or hand rolled smokes, but there was a distinct lack of tobacco fields out there. Not surprising when the need for food outweighed anything else.

But until then, he would savor these last few Marlboros he'd pilfered from a rotting house, while the others were searching for food cans and warm clothing.

The sound of boots shuffling against the deck roused him up from his slouched position by the exit door, his hands going immediately to point his crossbow at the possible target. The muffled swear words that reached him, as the owner of the boots found a pointy corner on which to injure his leg, made him smirk. Some walkers might still have boots on, and some moved well enough to mimic a drunken someone, but none could have replicated the aggravated tone, "...bugger it all to hell," that came with their own resident Brit, posh accent and all.

Still smirking, Daryl raised an eyebrow in question, which got him a frown in return. Harry threw him a dark glare, before limping slightly to settle beside the hunter, where he started to massage at his shin.

"Found anything interesting?" Harry asked after a moment, letting down his own bag that clicked merrily when it touched the floor.

"Not as much as you," Daryl said, nudging the half-empty bag resting at his feet. "The houses are gettin' emptier."

"You think someone's been here before us?"

"That, or the owners were awfully good at packing."

"To go where?"

Daryl shrugged, showing he agreed. In the early days of the epidemic, people fled searching for the fabled sanctuary the government had promised them, but eventually hope had died, and with it most of those still living.

"Ready to go to the next bust?" Harry said, rolling his shoulders. Nowadays there was a hunched look about him, about all of them really, as if life was getting too hard to bear, but they were too stubborn to give up and die.

Daryl nodded and threw away his smoked-to-the-filter cigarette. The last draught had been bitter, but still worth it. With a fluid move he grabbed his bag of supplies, got his crossbow at ready and took the lead, confident his partner was covering his back.

He just exited the house by the front door, stopping a little on the porch to assess the streets for walker activity, when the sound of a gunshot threw him to the ground, plaster falling all over him as the bullets hit too close to comfort. Hunched down, he crawled behind some wooden crates stacked along the porch and then risked a peek to where the shooter was. A flurry of bullets tearing up the wood protecting him made him wish that his preferred weapon of choice was not a crossbow. Just as gunfire erupted from his left when Harry returned fire with rapid, controlled bursts, while taking cover behind the half opened door.

"Sonuvabitch," Daryl cursed, when another wood splinter cut his cheek, just below his eyes. Several others had hit his exposed arms, and while they didn't hurt now, they soon would when the adrenaline wore off.

"You alright?" Harry yelled from inside the house, before letting out another burst of gunfire.

"Yeah, they missed," Daryl confirmed after a quick check, "Can you tell who's shootin'?" he asked, while another bullet rained some plaster on where he was hiding.

"At least one. Hiding by the green car," Harry said and with practiced moves, put down his rifle and reloaded before taking aim once again. After the initial panic of having someone shoot at him out of the blue, a cold calm had settled in, and with it, his aim also improved as the by now familiar green glow enveloped the rifle.

The next time he fired, Harry saw someone go down, so he stopped shooting for a moment waiting for anything to happen. The silence that followed was deafening after the excitement of the last few moments, but when nobody else started to shoot at them, Harry risked opening the door more, and hunched down as well, he crept on the porch until he was close to where Daryl was huddled. There he took point while Daryl got up, grabbed his crossbow and stealthily made his way across the road, to the green car riddled with bullet holes, where Harry had taken down their attacker.

Coming round the car, crossbow ready, he checked the face of the downed body for any sign of breathing before sending an arrow through his head. There was no point in letting him become a walker while they were investigating it. Swiftly he turned the body around until the face was visible. Having followed him just a few moments later, Harry swore with feeling when he saw whom he'd killed.

"Do you know him?" Daryl asked from where he was crouching next to the body.

"Yeah, he was next to Martinez when they came to talk with Rick about the truce."

Daryl frowned, turning back to the dead man. "So why did he attack us?"

Harry shrugged, at loss for what to say. Ever since the Governor's death a month before, they had an uneasy truce with the Woodbury community: everybody stayed on their side of the map they've divided up between them, and nobody bothered anyone.

So why was Woodbury shooting at them now?

To be continued


End file.
